Oh well. With none of the home nations qualifying for Euro 2008, I only had one hope for the tournament: That Cristiano Ronaldo wouldn't win it. With Portugal crashing out to Germany last night, my - and his - tournament is now over, only mine ended the way I wanted it to while his ended with Michael Ballack's forehead. The glamour-hogging fairy is trying to keep himself in the papers by saying he's going to announce his plans for the future in the next few days - grand, sweeping plans which will hopefully include breaking both his legs in sheer anguish. Personally I hope he does fuck off to Madrid, if only so I don't have to see his smug face in the back pages of my paper every saturday morning from August until June, but I am aware that that might be selfish reasoning.
Still, it was a good win for Germany, who were without manager Joachim Low, who has the haircut of someone from Panic at the Disco, who had to watch from the stands after his punch-up with an Austrian in the group games. Scolari can now swan off and take over at Chelsea and proceed to sign the world - presumably a much easier job than keeping Ronaldo playing football and not bursting into tears - but he'll have to do it on the back of being tactically outclassed by a German team that are showing again their frustrating capacity to grow as a tournament goes on. Later on it's Turkey vs. Croatia in the second quarter-final, which promises to be a much more passionate affair even if it isn't a technical spectacle on a par with Germany vs. Portugal, and if we're lucky we might even get to see a fight. You can't say fairer than that and I'm going to go for a Turkey win.
Elsewhere in football, France's subbed sub Samir Nasri has apparently flown into London for a medical with Arsenal and will sign a 5-year deal with the Gunners 'within days'. Given the fact this is about the twenty-fifth time Nasri has flown into London for a medical in the past few weeks, I wouldn't put too much stock in it until he actually turns up holding an Arsenal shirt and claiming he was a Gunners fan growing up in Marseille, as the only reasons I can think of for that many medicals are that they're all media bollocks or he's really a girl and they're trying to find a doctor to sign him off as a bloke but they can't find one thick enough yet.
Oh, and the Express, for all it's faults, reckons Ronaldo will definitely be off to Madrid this summer. Marvellous.
Moving away from football and towards those boring sports that nobody cares about, lets look at running. Former Olympian Lindford Christie has started shouting about institutionalised racism in Britain and reckons he should have a knighthood for having "achieved more single-handedly than any other sportsman in this country" and claims he doesn't have one because he's black. Of course, it could have nothing to do with the fact he brought shame on his sport and his country by being caught pumped full of drugs and banned for life in 1999, the ego-stroking twat. Maybe if you'd achieved something while not pumped full of nandrolone and hadn't gotten yourself a lifetime ban from Athletics, we might have given you a knighthood. We might even have let you carry the Olympic torch a bit. But you didn't, you fucked up, and Konnie Huq got to carry it instead, who, despite not having "achieved more single-handedly than any other sportsman in this country", has regularly achieved stuff like 'getting up in the morning and not immediately shooting up steroids'. Shut the fuck up.
In other news, people are idiots. At least, that's what Dartmouth council thinks, seeing as they've put up a sign saying 'Beware of Incoming Tide', as if people are somehow unlikely to see the enormous wall of water creeping up on their person. Now I agree with them, to an extent - people are idiots, but anyone who is that stupid that they wouldn't notice a large, horizon-filling body of water sneaking up on them should probably not be allowed out on their own. Not without a dedicated Youtube camera crew anyway.
Maybe the ocean-going experts at Dartmouth could help the Canadians find out why there are so many feet washing up on their beaches. In what is probably both the most macabre and the most brain-achingly bizarre case I've heard about in years, there has now been 5 human feet washed up on Canadian beaches in the last year. The Mounties reckon that none of them were 'removed or severed by force', which makes you wonder where they actually come from - feet don't just fall off and make a break for it. Forensic experts say it's not unknown for body parts to detach after long periods of decomposition in the water, but that still leaves the question as to why it's all feet, and nobody's yet found a face or an elbow washed up somewhere in British Columbia.
Probably a good thing, really. I wouldn't want to find a face.
Keeping with the macabre, Damien Hirst is back with another pickled animal. This time it's a cow with a bit of gold on it's head. No word on what rediculously pretentious statement about the state of humanity a pickled cow is supposed to represent, but it is expected to raise £8-12m at auction, though I seriously doubt anyone anywhere can tell me why with a straight face. Twelve million quid for a pickled cow and you call it art? It's not exactly a Picasso is it? It's not like you can hang it in your dining room as a conversation piece when you're having guests - well, unless you're really, really odd.
Modern art is fucking awful. Look, I've got a jar of my own piss with a dead dormouse floating in it. It represents man's futile struggle against sewing machines. Eight million to you, guv. Whoever buys this is clearly very rich, but no amount of money could possibly make up for how completely fucking stupid they are. Or the futility of having a special room built onto your house for you to keep your picked cow in.
Finally, moving over to America for a moment, 17 girls from one school in Massachusetts have gotten pregnant at the same school after they formed a 'pregnancy pact' after watching the film 'Juno', in which a teenage girl gets pregnant and decides to keep the baby. Now I know first-hand how influential films can be - this reminds me of the time when I watched The Godfather after drinking too much coffee and ended up forming an international crime family and took over 1940s New York, right up until some bastards shot me five hundred times at a toll booth. Or that time where I genetically recreated the dinosaurs from DNA trapped in amber fossils and they ended up eating Jeff Goldblum.
Oh wait, that didn't happen, because I'm not enough of a twat to copy things I see in movies that I know will ruin my life.
That's me done for the day. More tomorrow.
Goodnight.
Still, it was a good win for Germany, who were without manager Joachim Low, who has the haircut of someone from Panic at the Disco, who had to watch from the stands after his punch-up with an Austrian in the group games. Scolari can now swan off and take over at Chelsea and proceed to sign the world - presumably a much easier job than keeping Ronaldo playing football and not bursting into tears - but he'll have to do it on the back of being tactically outclassed by a German team that are showing again their frustrating capacity to grow as a tournament goes on. Later on it's Turkey vs. Croatia in the second quarter-final, which promises to be a much more passionate affair even if it isn't a technical spectacle on a par with Germany vs. Portugal, and if we're lucky we might even get to see a fight. You can't say fairer than that and I'm going to go for a Turkey win.
Elsewhere in football, France's subbed sub Samir Nasri has apparently flown into London for a medical with Arsenal and will sign a 5-year deal with the Gunners 'within days'. Given the fact this is about the twenty-fifth time Nasri has flown into London for a medical in the past few weeks, I wouldn't put too much stock in it until he actually turns up holding an Arsenal shirt and claiming he was a Gunners fan growing up in Marseille, as the only reasons I can think of for that many medicals are that they're all media bollocks or he's really a girl and they're trying to find a doctor to sign him off as a bloke but they can't find one thick enough yet.
Oh, and the Express, for all it's faults, reckons Ronaldo will definitely be off to Madrid this summer. Marvellous.
Moving away from football and towards those boring sports that nobody cares about, lets look at running. Former Olympian Lindford Christie has started shouting about institutionalised racism in Britain and reckons he should have a knighthood for having "achieved more single-handedly than any other sportsman in this country" and claims he doesn't have one because he's black. Of course, it could have nothing to do with the fact he brought shame on his sport and his country by being caught pumped full of drugs and banned for life in 1999, the ego-stroking twat. Maybe if you'd achieved something while not pumped full of nandrolone and hadn't gotten yourself a lifetime ban from Athletics, we might have given you a knighthood. We might even have let you carry the Olympic torch a bit. But you didn't, you fucked up, and Konnie Huq got to carry it instead, who, despite not having "achieved more single-handedly than any other sportsman in this country", has regularly achieved stuff like 'getting up in the morning and not immediately shooting up steroids'. Shut the fuck up.
In other news, people are idiots. At least, that's what Dartmouth council thinks, seeing as they've put up a sign saying 'Beware of Incoming Tide', as if people are somehow unlikely to see the enormous wall of water creeping up on their person. Now I agree with them, to an extent - people are idiots, but anyone who is that stupid that they wouldn't notice a large, horizon-filling body of water sneaking up on them should probably not be allowed out on their own. Not without a dedicated Youtube camera crew anyway.
Maybe the ocean-going experts at Dartmouth could help the Canadians find out why there are so many feet washing up on their beaches. In what is probably both the most macabre and the most brain-achingly bizarre case I've heard about in years, there has now been 5 human feet washed up on Canadian beaches in the last year. The Mounties reckon that none of them were 'removed or severed by force', which makes you wonder where they actually come from - feet don't just fall off and make a break for it. Forensic experts say it's not unknown for body parts to detach after long periods of decomposition in the water, but that still leaves the question as to why it's all feet, and nobody's yet found a face or an elbow washed up somewhere in British Columbia.
Probably a good thing, really. I wouldn't want to find a face.
Keeping with the macabre, Damien Hirst is back with another pickled animal. This time it's a cow with a bit of gold on it's head. No word on what rediculously pretentious statement about the state of humanity a pickled cow is supposed to represent, but it is expected to raise £8-12m at auction, though I seriously doubt anyone anywhere can tell me why with a straight face. Twelve million quid for a pickled cow and you call it art? It's not exactly a Picasso is it? It's not like you can hang it in your dining room as a conversation piece when you're having guests - well, unless you're really, really odd.
Modern art is fucking awful. Look, I've got a jar of my own piss with a dead dormouse floating in it. It represents man's futile struggle against sewing machines. Eight million to you, guv. Whoever buys this is clearly very rich, but no amount of money could possibly make up for how completely fucking stupid they are. Or the futility of having a special room built onto your house for you to keep your picked cow in.
Finally, moving over to America for a moment, 17 girls from one school in Massachusetts have gotten pregnant at the same school after they formed a 'pregnancy pact' after watching the film 'Juno', in which a teenage girl gets pregnant and decides to keep the baby. Now I know first-hand how influential films can be - this reminds me of the time when I watched The Godfather after drinking too much coffee and ended up forming an international crime family and took over 1940s New York, right up until some bastards shot me five hundred times at a toll booth. Or that time where I genetically recreated the dinosaurs from DNA trapped in amber fossils and they ended up eating Jeff Goldblum.
Oh wait, that didn't happen, because I'm not enough of a twat to copy things I see in movies that I know will ruin my life.
That's me done for the day. More tomorrow.
Goodnight.
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